


Empty

by hpdm4ever, MessiFangirl (hpdm4ever)



Series: Ramessi 2019 [5]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Argentina National Team, Champions League, Copa del Rey, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, FC Barcelona, Falling In Love, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, International Break, La Liga, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Ramessi, Real Madrid CF, Sexual Tension, Spanish National Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 14:13:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18523189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/hpdm4ever, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpdm4ever/pseuds/MessiFangirl
Summary: Leo's only faintly aware that the onions are sizzling, and he halfheartedly gives them a stir. "Sergio, I was empty until that night at the bar..." He feels like an idiot saying that, but he thinks it's the most honest he's ever been with anyone. "You--I can't tell you what you did for me. How you saved me. How you make me feel. Fuck, how you continue to make me feel... I don't want anyone but you, and if I didn't want to scare you off, I'd say that I'm positive I'll never want anyone other than you ever again."Ramos has dropped his arms to his sides, though he still looks uncertain. He's slumped slightly, no longer stick straight like usual. "You could have anyone," he says quietly. "I'm not sure why you'd want me." And it's so unlike him to seem so unconfident, but his worry is plain for Leo to see. "I--"





	Empty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yulin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yulin/gifts), [prompt_fills](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prompt_fills/gifts), [LeoDios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeoDios/gifts).



> I'm just back from vacation where I saw Barcelona win against Atleti at the Camp Nou!! Amazing game and trip to Barcelona, which was followed by visits to Paris and Amsterdam. I'm utterly EXHAUSTED and I meant to post this before I left (since it's about the international break games) but didn't have time. (When I've recovered I'll continue writing this series as well as the next part of OITNB).
> 
> NOTE: This fic is really two parts--a shorter first part after the first game (Argentina vs Venezuela and Spain vs Norway), and a second longer part after the second game (Argentina vs Morocco and Spain vs Malta). Originally I was going to post them separately, and you'll see that from the two different POV. 
> 
> After the second part, I started to not even want to post the first part, but I still think seeing some of the tension between them is good for the series, so I've kept it here for you guys to read anyway. Hope you like! Bit of a cliffie maybe, but I do hope to explore that subject matter in the next part of the series lol.

"We gotta stop meeting like this," Sergio says, leaning outside Messi's doorway and inspecting his nails. They're naturally perfectly manicured, and he smiles at them for no reason before raising his eyes to meet Messi's. He'd casually arranged himself in this position before he rang the bell so that he'd be able to do this. "Lurking outside of doors and what not. People are going to talk," he jokes, hoping for at least a smile.

But Messi doesn't smile. He just looks tired. There are shadows under his eyes, dark bruises stark against his pale skin. His hair is messy--even more than usual--like he didn't brush it, and he's in a wrinkled black t-shirt and oversized Barcelona training shorts. There's a stain of something or another on the one leg of the shorts.

And there's certainly no happiness that comes to his face at Sergio's attempts at humor.

"Why are you here?" Messi finally asks dully like it costs him more effort than he wants to expend. "Shouldn't you be on a plane to Malta?"

Sergio raises his eyebrows and straightens up. This isn't going the way he planned. At all. Not that he planned it out that much in his head like a teenage girl, but if he had, he would have expected a bit more enthusiasm on Messi's part. A makeout session where Messi ended up pinned against the door was more what he'd been thinking.

But a smile at the very least! Some enthusiasm at Sergio's appearance.

"What, you aren't happy to see me?" he asks, still trying to play it cool. "Would you rather I'd gone straight to Malta? Figured since you were here and not in Morocco, it made sense to drop in for a quick visit." That had seemed like the perfect plan in Sergio's head and he's not quite seeing the issue.

Messi's eyebrows crease in response, and Sergio sees he's struck a nerve.

Accidentally.

Shit.

"Ah," Sergio says, trying to find a way to be delicate. Unfortunately, that's not something at which he excels. Argentina's a sore spot and he knew that before this, but somehow in the heat of the moment he... forgot who he was talking to? Why did he even mention anything related to international break? Why did he bring up Malta and Morocco?

Why didn't he just say something classy like he missed Messi's ass or something?

"Well, at least your games are just friendlies, right?" Sergio continues, knowing he needs to get things moving quickly. Into the house. Into the bedroom. Into the bed. "They don't really matter in the grand scheme of things." Sergio sways forward a little bit, gravitating towards Messi in search of a kiss. "Let's go inside, hmm?"

"'They don't really matter,'" Messi repeats slowly, like the words taste strange in his mouth. "Losing with my team doesn't really matter? Missing games with them doesn't really matter? Do you really think that's true, Sergio?" There's that little line between his eyebrows still, and it doesn't look like it's going away anytime fast. "Do you think I'm over it? That everything's fine? Did your team losing against Ajax without you not really matter either?" Messi asks calmly then, a spark of something vicious in his eyes.

Sergio straightens, the idea of kissing forgotten, anger flickering within him instantly. He hadn't expected that--at all--and is taken entirely off guard. But only for a moment.

"Don't, Leo. Don't do that," Sergio snaps, shields coming up. He grits his teeth, forcing himself to take a deep breath. And then another couple.

In and out, in and out, in and out.

He's certainly not over what happened with Ajax and he's not sure he ever will be. The frustration and disappointment and misery starts to churn in his stomach and he works hard to shove it back down. "Please, don't bring that up right now," he says, trying to forget it. "Not when I just wanted to come here and see you. To leave that behind."

Spain's win against Norway along with his part in it had left him riding a high that he hadn't felt since before he and Messi had hooked up, before the shitty Copa del Rey elimination, before the awful clásico loss, before getting dumped out of the CL... and he's not eager to give that up and go back to being miserable about Real’s situation. Sure Zidane is back and that gives him some hope for the future, but he is fucking well aware of what Real Madrid's season looks like.

"I'm surprised you bothered," Messi says, tone guarded, though he looks less like he's trying to start trouble now. Maybe a little apologetic, though there's no apology forthcoming. "I haven't heard from you lately. I was trying to give you your space since you didn't seem to want to talk to me at all," he adds, like it's the reason behind his behavior.

Ah, and there it is.

That's part of the problem, isn't it?

Maybe true too, unfortunately. Sergio's slacked a little in the texting department, having been too involved in what was going on with his team to really answer when Messi had reached out. Or at least too involved to text more than a few words here and there. The fact that he'd answered at all should have been enough, but maybe he'd underestimated what Messi'd wanted from him.

In his defense, knowing Barcelona was doing so well in all three competitions had been hard for him to deal with. And Messi himself, scoring hat tricks left and right, while Sergio's suffered... Sergio just simply didn't think that Messi wanted to hear how awful he felt about everything. And since he couldn't say anything nice, he didn't say much of anything at all.

He thought it was better that way.

Yes, fine, okay, part of this was his fault, but Messi knew what he was going through. And Messi should be a little more understanding and forgiving for the radio silence, in Sergio's opinion. If the situation were reversed, he's pretty sure Messi would be ducking his every attempt to communicate and licking his wounds just like Sergio had.

But then again, Messi knows exactly what to say to hurt Sergio.

The thing is, Sergio knows what to say too.

"You want me to go then?" Sergio asks, still through gritted teeth, though it's the last thing he wants to do. If he's not careful he's going to break a molar. Wouldn't that be fucking great? He's really trying now to keep it all inside, though, because he knows how easy it would be to say something he doesn't mean--something about Messi and Argentina that would really be crossing a line. That's what would hurt Messi more than anything and he knows it.

He doesn't want to do that, really doesn't want to do that.

That's the last thing he wants.

Sergio can be the bigger person. He's been working on that, knows he's gotta work on his anger issues, because lashing out solves nothing and all it brings is trouble. And this is fine, he'll go off to Malta and focus on Spain, and maybe when international break is over he'll try to see Messi again and work this all out.

"No," Messi says quietly then, interrupting everything Sergio's thinking, and it hurts to see the way his bravado just crumbles. Messi's shoulders drop along with his head and he looks utterly miserable, resting against the doorframe like it's the only thing holding him up. "I don't want that, Sergio. I never--," he breaks off, closing his eyes even though they're staring at the ground. "At a time like this, you're the only one I want to see."

"Leo," Sergio says, wincing, not waiting for an invitation and taking a few steps forward so that he put his arms around Messi. As always, Messi fits perfectly against him, molding himself right against his chest while hiding his face in Sergio's throat. "Leo," he says again, breathing him in while he tries to figure out what to say. "It's alright. I'm here."

"Don't go," Messi says faintly. "I'm sorry, don't go." He doesn’t raise his face, but he mumbles against Sergio’s skin, “I was mad, but I shouldn’t take it out on you. It’s just been...” It’s his turn to take a couple of deep breaths, warm air puffing lightly as he tries to calm himself. “I don't want to be alone. Please stay.”

“Of course I’m staying,” Sergio says, sighing and hugging Messi as tightly as he dares. “As long as I can,” he promises, the logistics of his flight and the time he needs to get to the airport becoming less important. “It's just Malta, anyways,” he says, tucking Messi’s head under his chin.

“It’s funny, isn’t it,” Messi murmurs. “How suddenly things can change for us?”

Sergio purses his lips, trying to unravel that. He's not sure why Messi wants to have a heart to heart like this outside on the doorstep, but he'll damn well do it if Messi insists. “Well,” he says, hand rubbing up and down Messi’s spine, “it makes sense. We both have to deal with pretty stressful stuff, and not seeing each other can lead to all of our emotions getting bottled up. It’s not really healthy if we’re being completely honest with each other. Coming together like this is bound to be like, letting everything go. Incredibly intense. The good and the bad probably.”

Messi pulls his head back slightly. “Oh,” he says, making a face, light splotches of pink starting to appear. “I didn’t mean... I meant how things were with our clubs versus how things were with our national teams,” he stutters out.

Sergio snorts. “Oh," he says too, trying not to laugh at the misunderstanding, because he was so proud of himself for sounding deep. "Well, you’re right...? But I think what I said is still right,” he adds, wanting to get some points for being willing to talk about their relationship.

It is a relationship, for sure now--one that Sergio's determined to keep.

Messi laughs and it’s a relief. “I think you are too,” he admits, going back to leaning against Sergio. “It’s probably why the sex is so good," he says out of the blue. "The release of it all...“ He exhales against Sergio's throat and seems to utterly relax. "I'm definitely not complaining."

Sergio preens. “So it’s good for you too, then?” he asks, grinning delightedly before trying to reel it in. “I mean, of course it is," he says, recovering quickly. "I knew it was. I’ll have you know I have perfected my technique over the years through immense practicing, tireless trial and error, thankless experimentation. You should really be thanking me for my endless hours of dedication to my craft, all leading to making me the incredible sex machine that I am today.”

“Your craft? Sex machine?” Messi asks, laughing again, feeling looser in Sergio’s arms and losing whatever tension he was still holding in his body. “Do you even hear what you’re saying right now? Or are you so used to the sound of your own voice that you’ve learned to filter yourself out?”

"Tsk, tsk, Leo," Sergio says, letting go of Messi only so he can tip his chin up. "I am absolutely a sex machine and you should know that by now. Oh, by the way," he adds, changing the subject and letting his fingers graze over Messi's bare chin, "this is nice." His thumb moves over Messi's clean-shaven jawline and then up across his cheek. "Very nice." He ignores the dark shadows still spread under Messi's eyes and focuses on the positives instead. "I wouldn't mind if you ditched the beard for a while."

"Mmm," Messi says, leaning into his hand. "It doesn't much matter to me, to be honest. I can take it or leave it. Shaving just takes too much time in the morning. I'd much rather just get the extra sleep and then roll out of bed and head out without worrying about it. It's just less work to let it grow, really."

"Leo," Sergio says, quite serious, "I will absolutely make it worth your while if you continue to shave." He skims his fingers down Messi's jaw again and then rests his hands on his shoulders. "I cannot stress how good you look right now and since we're being honest, I literally got hard just hearing the news that you'd shaved off that monstrosity of a beard." He's not proud of that either, and it had been quite a shock to both himself as well as the other people around him, but it had happened and he has to face facts.

"You did not!" Messi says, blushing immediately, and oh, Sergio likes this so much better. The blush is incredibly noticeable now, even more than before now that there's no scruff to hide behind. "Wait, monstrosity?"

"Alright," Sergio allows. "That's a harsh word for it. It wasn't all that bad, but I can't deny how much I prefer this." He smiles, leaning down to kiss the corner of Messi's mouth. "You look adorable," he says, ignoring the way Messi rolls his eyes. "Good enough to eat," he says, kissing the other corner of Messi's mouth. "And you know what? I'm very hungry."

"You might be a sex machine," Messi mutters, "but your lines are truly awf--"

Sergio cuts off whatever wonderful thing he was going to say by pressing his lips to Messi's and taking that kiss he wanted from the very beginning. Messi doesn't seem to object if the way he reaches up and curls his hands into Sergio's hair is any indication of his feelings. Naturally, Sergio is inclined to encourage this behavior, and his hands move to Leo's hips, thumbs sliding into the waistband.

What he encounters, however, causes him to pull back from the kiss.

"Is this--," Sergio says, looking down at Messi. "Are you--," he starts again, moving his thumbs slightly. "I know we talked about being comfortable in your own home, but are you really not wearing underwear?" His hands move inside Messi's shorts until he's palming what he knows is a truly glorious ass. "Don't get me wrong. I'm not exactly complaining, here." He would never complain about Messi's ass, let alone now that he gets to touch it whenever he wants.

Messi's turned permanently pink. "Well I was just going to be hanging around the house all day," he explains, jumping slightly when Sergio squeezes without warning. "Don't do that!" he scolds, shaking his head at Sergio's fake look of apology. "And like I said, I don't like to take a lot of time to get ready..."

"Wait," Sergio says, squeezing again without meaning to and ignoring the way Messi smacks his arm in punishment. A little groping on the doorstep is forgivable, surely. "Does this mean you go commando all the time?" There are a multitude of thoughts running through his head now, memories of every single time he's ogled Messi in the past, questions he'll now have every single time he sees Messi in the future. He pulls Messi against him, suddenly getting rather... excited. "Leo," he says, utterly delighted, "this is wonderful news."

Messi just laughs, slightly swiveling his hips and rubbing up against Sergio's excitement. "Sergio," he says eagerly, "you said something about making it worth my while?" He leans up to nip at Sergio's jawline, a flick of tongue appearing for a quick taste. "I'd much rather do that outside instead of giving Luis a free show."

Sergio jerks his hands out of Messi's shorts, quickly looking over next door. "Is that perv watching us?! I'll kick his ass!" He ignores the resulting giggles spilling out of Messi now, narrowing his eyes at what windows he can see from Suárez's house. He doesn't see Suárez anywhere, but that doesn't mean anything. "I'm into a lot of stuff," he allows, shoving Messi inside without really looking, "but, I'm absolutely not into that."

"Oh?" Messi asks, drawing his attention. "What are you into then?" he asks curiously, stripping off his t-shirt and dropping it carelessly on the floor near the front door. Before Sergio can answer, he drops his shorts and kicks them over onto the sideboard. The vase of lilies is no longer there and the shorts land harmlessly on the surface. And since he's not wearing any underwear... it means he's down to his skin already. Down to his skin and wearing a jaunty grin that he throws over his shoulder. "Why don't you come and show me?"

Sergio's never moved faster in his life.

 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Did you know that the press are reporting I skipped out on Argentina's Morocco game because I went to Cesc's kids' baptism?" Leo asks, once Ramos has showered off the smell of the airplane and joined him in bed. Leo's scrolling through the emails his people have sent to him, frowning and shaking his head at every single one being negative press. "It's like no matter what I do, I can't win with them. And you know damn well that if I had gone to that friendly and gotten hurt worse, they would have blamed me for that."

Ramos plucks the phone out of his hand and tosses it on the floor. It lands with a soft thud on the carpet and Leo gives him a look. "What?" Ramos asks, sitting up so that he can fluff up the pillows behind his head. "It's fine. Besides, even if it had broken, you could have gotten another one," he adds dismissively, sticking his tongue out at Leo. "I'm here now so your focus should be on me."

"Well, I wasn't finished reading," Leo says weakly, even though the idea of finishing the emails was less than thrilling. "It's important that I know what they're saying. You know that." Still, he makes no move to physically climb out of bed and fetch the phone. If anything, he'll make Ramos get it since he threw it in the first place.

Ramos shakes his head. "Why?" he asks, making a face. "They don't know shit, so they're talking shit. What else is new? No point in making yourself upset over something you can't change. What are you gonna do? Go out and give some damning interview? That's not your style." When Leo frowns, Ramos shifts closer to him and puts an arm around his waist. His fingers play around with Leo's waistband as always. "Forget them, eh?"

Leo's not entirely convinced, but he's entirely willing to let himself be maneuvered until the two of them are comfortably stretched out next to each other. That doesn't mean that Ramos has won the argument. Not that it was an argument in the first place. "I'm glad you came back again," Leo says, enjoying the way Ramos smells now that he's used some of his toiletries. He rests his face on Ramos' chest, breathing his bare skin in. "Even if it's just for a little while."

"Mmm," Ramos says, closing his eyes in contentment. "Álvaro got the job done. Put us in a good position. And I'm happy for him--he'd been due for a while. You know how it is." He sighs, rubbing Leo's back slightly, tracing the ridges of his spine. "It's nice to be back here, though, I'll definitely agree with you. Nice to forget the world until it's time to get back to it all."

"Is that how you feel when you're here?" Leo asks curiously, unable to hide his smile. "That you're forgetting the world?" He stares at Ramos' face, thinking about counting the eyelashes spread out so delicately or the smile lines at the corner of his eyes. But then Ramos opens his eyes again and Leo's distracted by the glimmer in them.

"You don't feel the same when you're with me?" Ramos asks like the answer is obvious. He studies Leo intently. "Everything doesn't just... stop?" His eyes search Leo's and even though Leo hasn't answered, he smiles. "See, that's what I thought."

Leo rolls his eyes, knowing his blush has given his true feelings away. "I didn't say anything." And then, "Shut up."

Ramos laughs but it's kind. "I don't know why you're embarrassed. It's just the two of us here. And I'm the one who said it first, so if anything I should be the one who's embarrassed." He purses his lips and then considers that to see if he is. "Nope, not embarrassed!" he adds cheekily.

Leo hides his smile and rolls his eyes again, knowing he's about to be on the end of some silly dad joke about them getting stuck there if he keeps it up. But he can't help it. There's something about Ramos in any case, something that always makes him want to smile or laugh at the ridiculousness. And in a way, he thinks that's exactly what Ramos was talking about. The outside world fades away until it's just the two of them having a conversation.

Leo likes it.

Maybe a little too much.

Maybe a little too much, too soon. But he doesn't think he can stop this, and he's not sure he wants to either.

Especially when Ramos pulls Leo’s lips to his again.

"I'm going to get up," Leo announces some time later, after Ramos has spent some time investigating just how far down Leo's blush has traveled. Again.

He has no idea what time it is, especially since Ramos threw his phone so far from the bed, and the only clock in the room actually isn't working since it needs new batteries, but he is starting to get hungry. He's sure Ramos is probably feeling similarly after all their exertion. That said, it's a process to disentangle himself since Ramos has limbs like an octopus and is twice as strong as any man should be.

"Come on," Leo pleads, trying to extract himself. "If you let me go, I'll bring you something to eat in bed."

Ramos perks up. "Oooh," he says, finally loosening his grip--though not before he cops another quick feel of Leo's ass. "Room service? I'm down."

Leo victoriously springs up and shakes his head. "Of course you are," he says, looking down at himself and wondering if he should shower first. The majority of the mess was wiped away with a quick few swipes of a washcloth, and it's really only the marks that are left now. And they won't disappear in the shower, Leo's sure of that. He'll have to be relatively discreet in the locker room otherwise everyone is going to be on his case. "Why am I only wearing one sock?"

Ramos sits up and puts his hands behind his head as he surveys his work. He's shamelessly naked with the sheet kicked down toward the end of the bed long ago. And while he may be sporting a few new love bites and bruises, it's nothing compared to what he's done to Leo. "Why *are* you wearing one sock?" he asks, raising his eyebrows as he shifts against the pillows. "Socks don't belong in bed, Leo. I don't know how many times I have to tell you this."

Leo leans a hand against the wall and reaches down to pull off the sock in question. It's white and warm and he loves it. "Well, my feet get cold sometimes," he says defensively, tossing it toward the open hamper next to the dresser. "If you're getting up, see if you can find it in the bed before you do."

Ramos shakes his head. "Oh, no," he says, crossing his feet at the ankles and grinning. "I was promised room service." His gaze travels down Leo's body heatedly. "Unless you want to get back into bed..." His voice is filled with promise. "I wasn't quite finished with you, to tell you the truth."

Leo makes a noise in his throat that he's not sure he's ever made before.

But then his stomach gurgles in reminder. "Food," he mumbles half-heartedly, forcing his eyes away from Ramos' smile and making an escape before Ramos can lure him back. It takes only a second to grab shorts and a t-shirt from the dresser and then he's out of the bedroom with Ramos' booming laughter following him.

"Hate to see you leave, but love to watch you go! Hurry back with my food or else you won't get a tip!" Ramos calls as Leo goes downstairs, and Leo bites back something rude about what Ramos can do with a tip.

In the kitchen, he surveys the fridge and decides eggs are as good as anything. Healthy, quick, and easy to add some vegetables to. Ramos probably won't object to having a late breakfast even though it's not really breakfast time any longer. It's only a few minutes before he's got everything set out and is finishing chopping up some onions and garlic, peppers and spinach. The smell is making his stomach gurgle again and he's relieved when it looks like the pan is hot enough.

The pounding on his door is the only thing that gives him pause, and he frowns as he turns the burner off so he can go answer it.

Luis' not so smiling face greets him and Leo's honestly surprised to see him. "What's the matter?" Leo asks, half imagining all sorts of horrible things that would make Luis show up like this without calling. Someone hurt? In an accident? His anxiety starts to grow as the seconds tick by without Luis saying anything. "Luis!"

Luis just shakes his head. "Calm down, will you. Nobody's dying," he adds when he sees that Leo isn't calming down. "I just tried to call you," Luis continues, looking at Leo accusingly. "Why are you avoiding my calls? I must have called you like ten times and every time it went straight to voicemail after one ring!" He crosses his arms and looks at Leo closer, before looking over Leo's shoulder. "Ohhh," he says, more to himself than to Leo. "Ramos has your phone, doesn't he."

Leo hits Luis on the shoulder. "Yes? Probably? I guess? It's upstairs and so is he. But what is it?!"

Luis looks at him strangely. "Okay," he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I just wanted to make sure that you knew. Um, so that you didn't get ambushed or anything because obviously, that would suck." He bites his lip and scrunches up his face. "Listen, it's just that it's all over twitter, and I know you don't even use twitter, so clearly you wouldn't know. And I'm sure he didn't tell you, because from what I remember, he wasn't big on that kind of communication--"

"Luis," Leo says calmer now that he knows this isn't exactly an emergency. "Spit it out or get out. I'm hungry and I'm in the middle of cooking, so if you're not--"

Luis finally lets it all out in a rush. "Cristiano is in Barcelona."

Leo blinks, sighing. "Is that it?" he asks, crossing his arms. The mention of Cris doesn't exactly make him happy, but it's nothing compared to how upset he used to get when someone brought up his name. "Luis, he's probably here for treatment, right? I saw he got hurt during the game. Looked like a hamstring, naturally, but I know they probably don't want to announce that--"

Luis interrupts him. "I know, but, here's the thing. He made it clear, in some comment or whatever, that he wasn't here for that. He wasn't really here for business with Nike, either. Which obviously would have been the easiest thing to say." He looks uncomfortable, like he'd much rather be doing anything but talking about this. "Leo, he said he was here for personal stuff. And, well, unless there's something big that neither of us knows, I have to assume that means he's here to talk to you."

Leo drops his arms. "Why," he asks, licking his lips, "would you think that? I mean, I haven't talked to him..." Since July, he wants to say. Since Cristiano dumped him and left for his new life in Italy.

Luis throws up his arms. "I don't know, okay?" He looks at Leo like he's worried. "I just had a feeling. Personal can mean a lot of things, and I'm sure he knows plenty of people here... But, the way he said it, the way it seemed, I think he's coming here." He looks over Leo's shoulder again and nods inside. "And I think you might not want to be caught off guard if he does, right?"

"Suárez," Ramos greets, putting his hand on Leo's back as if to reassure him. "Thought I heard you interrupting my chef." He's looking much the same as when Leo had left him, although now he's pulled on a pair of shorts from his luggage along with a pair of flip flops. It might be the most casual looking he's ever appeared to Leo--times in the bedroom excluded. "Quite rude, if you ask me."

"Ramos," Luis replies, rolling his eyes and making Leo wonder if that's one of the reasons he does it so much. "Maybe you should have answered one of my calls and then I wouldn't have had to come over here and bother you. And be rude." Then he shakes himself. "Wait, what am I saying? I don't care about you. And it's not rude to come over and--" He trails off. "Did you hear why I'm here?"

Leo doesn't know what to say.

"Only that you wanted to warn Leo, what exactly?" Ramos replies. "Somebody is coming here? Not sure who could possibly cause this much of a fuss. Is it Geri? Because, okay, sure this isn't exactly how we wanted to break the news to him, but he might be in a semi-good mood since the Catalunya game went well. Right, Leo? It's fine, right?" Ramos rambles, running a hand through his hair. "I should probably shower, though. Go for a good impression since he's meeting me for the very first time," he adds, grinning.

Leo ignores Ramos for a second and looks at Luis. "It's... I mean, if I had talked to him, I might have mentioned it." He scratches his jaw in thought. "But really I can't see how it's any of his business what I'm doing and who I'm seeing. I just can't understand what he would possibly want. What he could possibly gain by coming here..." His lips press into a line unhappily, all of his happiness of spending the day with Ramos evaporating.

Ramos looks confused. His hand curls around Leo's hip. "Hey," he says gently, turning Leo to face him. The other hand reaches between Leo's eyebrows to try to smooth out the lines of irritation. "What's wrong? It's not Geri, then?"

"It's Cristiano," Luis informs him helpfully.

Ramos' face goes blank and he makes a noise of understanding. "And why is he coming here? To see you?" Ramos asks then, fingers moving to trail across Leo's cheekbone. "Or you don't know," he answers his own question, nodding like he understands everything already. "You don't know and you didn't know he was coming at all. I see."

"You hadn't talked to him, about me?" Leo asks, suddenly wondering if maybe Ramos' been telling more people than he thought. Teammates or friends, or family. Which would certainly be okay, so long as he was just not shouting it out from the rooftops. Former boyfriends though, he would have thought there'd be a conversation about.

"No," Ramos says, looking slightly uncomfortable then for the first time. "We've only talked here and there, and I thought about bringing it up, but it never seemed right." He drops his hand from Leo's face and shrugs. "Not sure it ever would have seemed right to say I was banging his ex."

Leo hits him on the arm. "Sergio!" His face flushes immediately, the crude language incredibly embarrassing even though Luis is the only one to witness it.

Especially since Luis guffaws and only stops when Leo turns and stares daggers on him.

"Oh, relax. And it's fine, Leo," Ramos says, resting his hands on Leo's shoulders. "Cris was bound to find out at some point, alright? And he shouldn't even care, right? Since he left you. And me too, frankly, when he left for Juve." His expression is calm as he searches Leo's gaze. For whatever reason, he seems entirely unbothered by the revelation that Cris could be dropping in on them at any moment. "Are you worried about telling him? Or... nervous? Or something else?"

Leo's skin is still uncomfortably hot and he forces himself to take a deep breath. The truth is that he's not sure how to say what he feels. He feels strange. Annoyed that Cris is coming. And yes, worried about Cris will take the news of him and Ramos being together. "Lose the word banging from your vocabulary," Leo mutters, tugging on his ear as his gaze skitters away from Ramos.

Luis sighs then. "Ah," he says, drawing Ramos' attention. "He feels guilty. Like he's done something wrong."

"You can go anytime," Leo snaps, his flush coming back full force. "Thanks for letting me know and see you later and all that," he forces out, now incredibly annoyed. He ignores whatever apology Luis stammers at him, and yanks Ramos by the hand back inside. When the door is closed, Leo storms back to the kitchen. Just because Luis is his best friend, it doesn't give him the authority to just blurt out what he's thinking whenever he feels like it.

"Hey," Ramos says, following him immediately. "What did he mean? Why do you feel guilty?" His casual levity seems to have disappeared now, and his gaze is intense as he leans against the counter. "Seriously, we need to talk about this. I can't read you entirely... like Suárez can. Yet. I mean, I'll be able to one day. Obviously."

Leo turns on the burner and stares at the pan he was going to make eggs in. The vegetables are all still sitting on the cutting board next to him, and the smell of the onions starts to make him tear up. "I don't know," he says, feeling frustrated. He can feel Ramos still staring at him, but he doesn't want to look back at him. "I don't know, okay? I don't know why I feel guilty. Maybe because you're his friend and I feel like I stole that or something. I don't know," he says, knowing that's not quite it.

Ramos doesn't say anything as Leo jerks over to the fridge and pulls out some butter. He doesn't say anything as Leo adds a pad of butter to the pan. And he doesn't say anything as Leo starts to cook the garlic and onions. They both stand there in silence as Leo stirs the contents of the pan around, waiting for the onions to soften.

"I thought you were over him," Ramos finally says, sounding unhappy. Unhappy and disappointed and a whole mess of other things. "If you're not..." he says, letting out a sigh.

Leo looks up from the pan in shock. "I am over him," Leo says forcefully. "I'm over him. I don't want him at all." He licks his lips, painfully aware that this is a dangerous conversation and there may not be that much time to have it. But he wants to make sure Ramos knows how he feels, and this is not the time to mince words. "More than that, I don't want him here. I don't want to see him. Why would I? I was hurt when he left me. Incredibly hurt. Upset. Alone. And it fucking sucked. I could play football but the rest of me was... empty. I was empty."

Ramos' eyes are hooded, and though his face is calm, his arms are folded tightly across his chest indicating that he's tense.

Leo's only faintly aware that the onions are sizzling, and he halfheartedly gives them a stir. "Sergio, I was empty until that night at the bar..." He feels like an idiot saying that, but he thinks it's the most honest he's ever been with anyone. "You--I can't tell you what you did for me. How you saved me. How you make me feel. Fuck, how you continue to make me feel... I don't want anyone but you, and if I didn't want to scare you off, I'd say that I'm positive I'll never want anyone other than you ever again."

Ramos has dropped his arms to his sides, though he still looks uncertain. He's slumped slightly, no longer stick straight like usual. "You could have anyone," he says quietly. "I'm not sure why you'd want me." And it's so unlike him to seem so unconfident, but his worry is plain for Leo to see. "I--"

Leo turns the burner off so he doesn't burn the house down. "I don't want just anyone," Leo says, not giving a shit about the food and needing to fix this. He presses up against Ramos against the counter, looping his arms around Ramos' neck and burying his face into Ramos' chest. "Fuck everyone," Leo says bluntly, breathing Ramos in again just as he had upstairs in bed. "Fuck Cris. Fuck whoever you think I want. There's nobody. Nobody except you."

Ramos' arms come up around Leo to hug him and hold him close, even as he tilts his head to rest against Leo's. "You're throwing around the word 'fuck' a lot, so just to be clear," he murmurs, lips brushing Leo's ear, "there shouldn't be any fucking of anyone except me." He sounds like he's trying to get back to his regular joking self. But his tone is off.

Leo closes his eyes. "I think I feel guilty," he says slowly, turning his face so that his cheek is flat against Ramos' chest but his words can be heard clearly, "because I told Cris that I loved him." He takes a few breaths now that it's said out loud, and he tries to find contentment in listening to Ramos' heartbeat. There's no quickening of the thuds under his ear--it's steady and continuous--and Leo takes strength from that. "He was the first person that I loved. The first person I thought completed me and made me a better person."

Ramos doesn't answer, but it wasn't a question and he doesn't really need to.

Slowly, Leo raises his head until he's looking straight up at Ramos. "It took me a year and a half," Leo says faintly. "A year and a half of dating--exclusively--before I felt it. Something other than caring and friendship and affection and comfort. Maybe a few months longer than that before I said it to him." He stares up into Ramos' dark eyes, feeling lost. "I'd never loved anyone before, not like that. And I didn't want to be wrong, even though he told me first and he was waiting for me to say it back."

"First loves are like that, sometimes," Ramos says, a hint of something floating through his gaze. "I wouldn't--Leo, you don't have to explain anything--"

"No," Leo interrupts, his thumb going to Ramos' cheekbone. "I do have to explain. Because I want you to know. I don't want there to be secrets between us, or tension, or anything. I want you to know it all. All of me. All of my past. Because," he says breaking off and gathering his courage, "this is why I feel guilty. Because I know he left me, and I know he broke my heart. But should I have been able to fall in love again so quickly?"

Ramos doesn't move except to open his mouth and then close it. "You don't have to say that, Leo," he eventually says. "I'm not asking you to say you love me. I understand--"

Leo shakes his head and puts both of his hands on either side of Ramos' head. "Stop. Listen to me. I'm telling you that I'm fucking in love with you," he says loudly. "That I know it now, already, even though it's only been a few months. And that I'm not ashamed of it." He's getting worked up now, which won't help the situation at all, but he has to get this out, has to make Ramos understand. "Okay? I love you, Sergio Ramos García. Do you hear me?"

Ramos looks ridiculous with his face smooshed by Leo's hands, and on top of that, he's wearing a look of incredulity. "Are you sure?" he asks dubiously. "Because I mean, I know I'm a lot to take. Team colors aside. Rough tackles aside. Big mouth aside. And I'll understand if I'm your rebound because I don't blame you for needing one, and Geri will hate it along with half the world, and truthfully I'm having a really good time being it and--"

Leo kisses him to shut him up.

Or tries too, in any case.

"Like, if you want to get it all out of your system," Ramos mumbles against Leo's lips. "Do all the dirty with the enemy. Just fuck it out, get fucked, fingered, blown, banged--"

"What did I say about banging?" Leo mumbles back, digging his hands into Ramos' hair to keep him steady. "Shut up and kiss me."

That, at least, Ramos is finally willing to do, and Leo gets thoroughly and expertly kissed for the next few minutes. He doesn't actually know how much time passes, except when he comes back to himself it's because Ramos' hands are sneaking their way down into Leo's shorts. "Easy access," Ramos says, sounding excited as he squeezes Leo's ass a little too hard in his glee. "Forget the food, I want to spread you out over the table."

"Oh," Leo says, practically struck dumb by the look in his eyes. "No, wait," he says, blushing again as Ramos pulls him flush against his body. "You're doing this on purpose, getting me sidetracked when I'm trying to have a real conversation." And damn, he normally wouldn't mind, because everything Ramos is doing to him is pushing the right buttons...

"Doesn't sound like me," Ramos demurs, nudging a knee between Leo's thighs and trying to walk him backward across the kitchen. "I would never do that. Ever," he continues, smiling devilishly as Leo gasps at the contact. "Proper gentleman, me. Everyone says so."

"Nobody says that! You're insatiable," Leo mutters, clutching at Ramos so he doesn't fall to the floor, suddenly weak-kneed. But whatever insecurity Ramos had shown before is long gone, and in his place is now the normal, confident and intensely sexual creature Leo knows and loves. "I was trying to say something..."

Ramos kisses him again, all hot and wet and lips and teeth and tongue. Sucking and nipping and the *heat*--

"I want to fuck your brains out, Leo," Ramos whispers hotly against Leo's mouth. "I want Suárez to know we're fucking. I want Cris to know we're fucking. I want Geri to know we're fucking. I want them all to know what we're doing, because that way I won't have to spend my days and nights thinking of ways to fight off anyone who thinks they can have you the way I have you."

Leo's brain may as well already have been fucked out of his head because the effort it takes to listen is almost more than he can take. "What are you saying--"

"I'm saying you're a fucking idiot and so am I and so is Cris for all sorts of stupid reasons. *Him* most of all for letting you get away, for not keeping you. But it's his loss now. Oh, no, he's not getting you back," Ramos says possessively. "Nobody's getting you except me. Not now, not ever. You're mine. Do you hear me? You love me? Well, I love you too. No take backs," he laughs, hoisting Leo up onto the table and stepping between his legs. "That's right, baby, you're stuck with me now."

That's all well and good, except just then, the doorbell rings. And they both know who it is.


End file.
